


Now and Forever

by plant_boi_potter



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ficlet, Fluff, M/M, Pianos, Snow, hand holding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-07
Updated: 2019-10-07
Packaged: 2020-12-01 23:56:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20940758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plant_boi_potter/pseuds/plant_boi_potter
Summary: Harry looks at Draco as though he's the only man in the room.For Seb





	Now and Forever

**Author's Note:**

> Trying fervently to get this uploaded before the laptop dies... wish me luck.

He looks at his hands before he has chance to register his face. They fly over the keys, barely touching them as the melody wafts around the dancers. Harry's eyes are immediately drawn to his fingers, long and graceful. They're adorned with sparkling silver, the rings catching in the florescents every time he twists his hands. Harry finds himself weaving his way through the dancers, just to get a closer look. 

Draco Malfoy's eyes are cast downward, toward the keys, not even looking up to the scrap of music paper perched on the piano's ledge. Harry catches the sparkling greys as Draco's eyes search out the keys. The roiling sea of emotion emitting from just below the surface pours into every note. 

He walks with a purpose, trying to keep his head down. Skirting the spinning skirts and the toes of men in charcoal suits. He's so focused on his footing that he almost forgets his destination. 

Harry trips. 

He _just_ misses the piano's jutting edge; hands splayed to save himself, he doesn't think. 

A short intake of breath from the both of them has Harry ready to startle back - whisper an 'I'm sorry' and bolt for the nearest exit. But there are eyes on them now, and Draco's hands are so, so cold. 

"Potter." Draco nods stiffly, but he continues to play. As if Harry's hands aren't currently covering his own, as if the warmth doesn't send such a shock through his body that he almost trips on the chorus. 

Draco's hands are delicate, pearlescent. Harry just wants to hold them to his chest, kiss his fingertips... try to breathe some life into the marble beauty beneath him. 

"Is there another pianist that can take over for you?" Harry breathes down Draco's neck, short and sharp, making Draco shiver - with cold or anticipation... well, he can only find out, can't he? 

"Another... yes. Andrew will be back in a minute." Draco nods, less stiffly than before. 

"Will-will you..." Harry stumbles over his words as he reaches his hands back from the piano, aware of the eyes on his back, Draco whines at the sudden loss of warmth. 

"Draco Malfoy, will you do the honour to dance with me."

Draco holds out his hands, the crackling down his spine piquing in intensity as Harry pulls him from his chair. 

Andrew comes back from his break, raising his eyebrows at Draco before he's whirled away into the crowd, the music starting up again, although with less poise. 

Draco relaxes into the feeling of being allowed to take control, whirling Harry almost seamlessly in and out of the masses of people, manoeuvring him around the dance floor with a dexterity Harry had never seen before. 

Harry pushes his head into Draco's neck, letting him take the lead as they weave in and out of the crowd. "I liked the previous pianist much better."

***

The snow cakes the roofs of the dilapidated houses like icing, settling in Harry's hair in thick layers. Draco entertains the idea that he looks quite delectable - like an iced bun. He allows a faint smile to quirk over his lips before the icy wind hits his cheeks again. He's cold and wet, feet sinking far into the snowy ground beneath him. 

But then Harry is by his side again, grasping his gloved hand and thrusting both of their hands deep into his coat pocket. 

"Come home with me." He says again. 

Harry's been saying this for a week, and Draco is, for some reason - relenting. Or at least he isn't protesting. He can feel his feet move forward and his hand in Harry's pocket. It's warm, smooth from what he can feel through his gloves. He wants to feel it wrapped around his waist, like it was in the hall that night. 

Draco thinks about his father, a flash of a memory - and then blackness. He shakes his head decisively, clasping Harry's hand more tightly, hoping to push his emotions out, through the bond between their clasped palms. 

"Okay."

***

Draco presses the blanket to his nose, breathing in Harry's scent long after he's gone. It's been a month and neither of them have broached the subject of what to call they're little affair. 

The Prophet have had a lot to say on the matter, as per usual, but neither of them have taken to reading the Prophet since Skeeter's eminent collapse. Draco focuses on the blanket. It's a deep jade green, hints of his own lemongrass cologne lacing in with Harry's signature smell. 

Draco still can't quite place it - cedar and cinnamon with undertones of... something - maybe broom polish. His toes are visible from the bottom of the blanket. Harry's so much shorter than he is, it's so obviously a perfect size for him. He resolves to find a place that supplies knitting needles, and some wool. 

***

The snow has broken, but Harry still takes his boots off at the door. He steps into the hallway, squinting into the brilliant light that glows down the hallway from the living room. He can see the door is slightly open and there's muttering from the other side. 

The clack of needles is apparent, getting louder as he sneaks down the hall. 

He knows this will always be his house, that he'll always be welcome here, but no matter the love Molly has for him he doesn't really want to run into Ginny, It'll feel like he's trespassing. More than sneaking down the halls ever will. 

He works on what he'll say to her instead - how it's probably inconvenient to drop by, how he can smell the pumpkin pasties cooking in the oven... He sees Draco drop his knitting needles, a deer in the headlights as he sits, clutching the blanket to his chest - looking for all he's worth like he wants to be clutching an Invisibility Cloak. 

Molly smiles at Draco, gently. A fragile smile that may break if it's disturbed. She lifts her wand and Harry watches the wool slide back onto the needles, the double stitch neatly unpicking itself. Draco doesn't look away from Harry, the blush rising up his cheeks involuntarily, although he does try to stop it, with growing difficulty.

With Draco's needles settled, Molly turns to greet Harry. She's warm and friendly, although there's barely a force in her voice that he can't quite detect. It's a strange sight, Draco Malfoy curled up on Molly Weasley's cushy armchair. A sight of domesticity that he never thought he'd see. 

"I'm sorry I'm reshaping your blanket." The blanket rises in the air and Harry sees the evident join in the fabric, the way the two shades of green don't quite match up. His face breaks into a smile as he watches Draco's delicate fingers weave stuttering patterns in the air, the knitting needles in front of his face following suit. 

Finally, something Draco Malfoy can't do well. 

***

Draco snuggles under the blanket, feet tucked into the ends. He lays in Harry's lap, as Harry runs his fingers through Draco's blonde hair, watching this years snowfall come down. 

Harry bends to kiss his boyfriend's forehead. "I love you."

The piano in corner of their living room is their only witness.


End file.
